


love is blindness

by Shinybug



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Blindness, Curses, First Kiss, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Minor Violence, Slow Burn, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:33:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23949931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shinybug/pseuds/Shinybug
Summary: As they were laying there in the dark not sleeping Jaskier murmured, “I’ll do my best to protect you.”Something hot flared in Geralt’s chest. “Listen to me. If there’s trouble, do not worry about me. You run away. If you can’t run away, then fight with everything you’ve got. But don’t fight for me.”Jaskier huffed a hollow laugh. “You say that as if it’s a choice I could make.”“Jaskier,” he said helplessly, completely at a loss as to what to do with the emotion crowding out everything else in his chest. 'Do not love me,' he wanted to say. 'Do not love me.'***Geralt is cursed with blindness and Jaskier must lead him on a journey to restore his sight. He has to learn how to see what is right in front of him, and have the courage to step forward and take a chance on something when his whole way of life hangs in the balance.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 253
Kudos: 1474
Collections: Angsty Angst Times, Geralt is Sorry, Just.... So cute...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Canon compliant through Rare Species but diverges from canon after that.

***

It had never been clear to Geralt whether trouble chased Jaskier like filings to a magnet, or if Jaskier was the one chasing trouble.

Regardless of the truth, it was obvious that Jaskier and trouble were hand in hand that day, because after Geralt had _specifically said_ , “Jaskier, don’t go touching everything that you see, we don’t know where all these things came from,” Jaskier had still lifted the small leather wrapped package nestled among the glittering coins and treasures the freshly killed troll had hoarded there under the bridge.

Geralt’s medallion began to hum the moment the bard picked it up, giving Geralt just a second of warning while Jaskier said, “Hello, what have we here?” and unwrapped the thing. Geralt had just enough time to see a flash of gold. It winked in the sunlight that filtered down through the beams of the bridge over their heads, and Geralt shouted, “No!” and leaped forward to knock it out of Jaskier’s hand before he could touch it.

Time slowed down, it seemed, when Jaskier started to turn toward him and Geralt misjudged the distance between himself and the treasure, and the back of his knuckles just barely grazed the thing. A slide of cool metal, Jaskier’s shocked face as Geralt barreled into him, then the world went dark.

They both sprawled out onto the ground, Geralt half on top of Jaskier, who wheezed under his weight.

“Geralt, what in the name of all that is holy,” he gasped, shoving at Geralt’s bulk.

Geralt rolled onto his back, hearing the clatter of coins beneath his armor, and blinked. Blinked again. Rubbed his hands over his eyes. Nothing.

“If you had wanted it for yourself all you had to do was say so,” Jaskier continued, annoyance clear in his voice.

“Jaskier,” Geralt gritted out as he clumsily sat up, sliding halfway down the pile of coins.

“What? What’s wrong with you?” Finally he seemed to have noticed that all was not well.

Geralt blinked some more, shook his head as though trying to wake up from a dream. “I can’t see.”

Silence filled the air between them.

Geralt made an irritated sound. “I can feel you staring at me.”

“I’m waving my hands in front of your face. You really can’t see that?”

“No.”

“But, what happened? Was it the gold medallion?”

“All I know is that you were going to touch it and I stopped you. It brushed the back of my hand, and now I can’t see.”

“Well. Fuck.” Jaskier sounded dazed.

“Hmm.”

“Now what?”

“I’ve got no fucking idea, Jaskier. Where did it go?”

He heard Jaskier moving around him, his boots crunching on coins. “It’s here, next to your leg.”

“Whatever you do, don’t touch it. It’s probably cursed. Pick it up with the leather wrapping and describe it to me.”

“Well, it’s a bit gauche for my taste, rather flowery--”

“Jaskier.”

“Sorry. It looks old, I suppose. There’s granulation in a radiating pattern like a sun.”

“Any stones?”

“A citrine in the center. Nothing else. How do you think it ended up in the hoard of a troll?”

Geralt shrugged. “I’d guess someone used it to pay the bridge toll. I doubt the troll would know or care that it was cursed.”

“Seems like an odd thing to be carrying around,” Jaskier said dubiously.

“Perhaps they just wanted to be rid of it. Could have been something they inherited, and didn’t want anything to do with.” Geralt rubbed his temples, trying to ease a sudden headache. “Wrap it up the way you found it, and put it in your pack.”

“Why _my_ pack?”

“Because you’re the one who picked it up in the first place. We may need it in order to find a cure.”

“You’re awfully calm in the face of sudden blindness, Geralt.”

“I can’t see any point in having a good cry. Now help me up.”

Jaskier snorted. “I’ll give you my hand, but I can’t pull you up.”

Geralt sighed. “I just need you to steady me.”

Together they got Geralt to his feet and he struggled to find his balance. The ground beneath them was uneven, and the sound of the wide stream over which the bridge crossed was disorienting. He held onto Jaskier’s hand for a moment longer, then reluctantly let him go. 

The reality of the situation was beginning to sink in, and Geralt had to do a lot of mental negotiating to decide his next step. He had been planning to harvest what he could from the troll’s corpse, but that was out of the question now. Still, he’d need proof of the kill in order to collect his coin from the alderman, so he pulled a knife from his belt.

“Jaskier, I need you to bring me its ear.”

“I’m sorry, you what now?”

Geralt handed his knife in Jaskier’s direction. “For proof.”

“Oh, ye gods, Geralt. You’re going to owe me so much for this. Pints and pints of ale.”

Geral smiled a little. “Not coin?”

“The ale is to help me forget what I’m about to do.”

“It’s not like I’m asking you to bring me his liver, Jaskier. Just slice it off cleanly and wrap it in scrap cloth from my pack.”

“Ugh. It smells, Geralt.”

Geralt could hear Jaskier making his way over to the corpse, so he didn’t bother to chastise him for whining. He listened as Jaskier made terrible gagging noises, and then he was heading back toward Geralt, presumably successful.

“I’m putting this in _your_ pack,” he said, and he sounded somewhat petulant.

“Hmm.” Geralt rubbed his head again, wishing it would stop pounding.

“Should we take some of this gold with us? There’s enough here to set us up for early retirement.” Coins clinked as Jaskier touched them.

“Absolutely not. We’ve already borrowed enough trouble, don’t you think?”

Jaskier heaved an extremely put-upon sigh. “I was looking forward to a nice room at the inn tonight. Hells, we could have bought the entire inn with this.”

“We’ll still stay at the inn. That’s what the ear is for.” He stepped forward from under the bridge’s shadow and felt the warmth of the sun immediately on his face. “I’ll need your help to get up the hill. And then to get to Roach.”

“Oh, of course. What was I thinking?”

Jaskier carefully took Geralt’s hand in his and guided him slowly up the steep slope. It took a long time, and Geralt was distracted by the feel of Jaskier’s fingers, callused and warm, a sure grip.

“Here’s Roach,” he said gently, guiding Geralt up to her head. Stand here while I put our _treasures_ away,” Jaskier said, and Geralt could hear the cringe in his voice. There was a rough slithering of leather against leather, their packs being opened and closed.

Geralt ran his hands over Roach’s cheek, her forelock, curving down to the tip of her velvety noise. Roach snorted and butted him gently with her head. “This is going to go a bit differently than usual,” Geralt murmured in her ear. “You’re just going to have to trust me. I don’t like it any more than you do.”

Jaskier fidgeted at his elbow. “How do you plan to ride her? You can’t see where you’re going.”

“No, but you can. I’ll be sitting behind you.”

“No, Geralt, Roach barely tolerates me, even on a good day. It will never work.”

“That’s why I just explained it to her.”

“Geralt,” he replied, his voice rising higher in pitch. “She’s a horse.”

He shook his head. “It’ll be fine. Just mount up first, and then I’ll get up behind you.”

Jaskier grumbled, sounding uneasy. The saddle creaked and then there was a soft thump of Jaskier finding his seat. “I’m up. Her ears are back, is that a good or bad thing?”

“Roach,” Geralt said warningly. Roach snorted again. “Okay, give me the stirrup.”

He moved down Roach’s side and ran his hands over her saddle and Jaskier’s leg. Jaskier let out a squeak as Geralt followed the line of his thigh up to the back of the saddle, but Geralt just firmed up his focus and got his boot in the stirrup. He bracketed Jaskier’s thigh and took the saddle in his two hands, then mounted as smoothly as he was able, pulling himself up behind Jaskier.

“Now get your foot back in the stirrup. Roach will do most of the work if you just give her enough rein.”

“Are you okay back there?” Jaskier sounded very tense.

Geralt was fighting vertigo and his head ached fiercely, but he wouldn’t let Jaskier know that. “I’m fine. Just give her a nudge.”

Roach stepped out into a fast walk, and Geralt grasped Jaskier by the hips. He heard Jaskier suck in a sharp breath, then one hand touched his reassuringly.

“We’ll figure this out, Geralt,” he said quietly. “Let’s just get to the inn first.”

It took an hour to get back to the village, and they didn’t speak much. Eventually Jaskier broke the silence, his voice quiet and subdued.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I know this is my fault.”

Geralt tightened his hands on Jaskier’s hips. “It was an accident.”

“If I’d listened to you, you wouldn’t be blind now. I’m like a magpie when it comes to shiny things. I don’t know how to keep my hands to myself.”

“I know that. I don’t blame you.” He felt like maybe he should, but Jaskier sounded so contrite that he didn’t have the heart to chastise him.

“Well, I’ll continue to blame myself, regardless. Also, I can see the town up ahead.”

“Let me down here,” Geralt said, and slid off. The ground was closer than he expected, and he staggered a little. “Okay, you too.”

Jaskier landed beside him with a thump. “How do we manage this next bit?”

“We’ll walk to the alderman’s house and you’ll have to collect the fee from him. I don’t want anyone to know I can’t see, it’s too much of a risk to let people know I’m vulnerable.”

“How do I convince him that I speak for you?”

“I’ll stay with Roach, in sight of him. Just tell him I’m weary from the fight and eager to get to the inn for an ale. Use your powers of persuasion.”

Jaskier laughed. “My powers of persuasion? Do I have those?”

“You know perfectly well that you can charm your way into anyone’s smalls with a well-timed wink and a scrap of poetry.” He couldn’t help but smirk a little, though he had no way of knowing if Jaskier was looking his way.

“I don’t want in his smalls, Geralt. The man is near seventy, and I have standards.”

Geralt snorted. “Just be persuasive, is all I meant.”

“I’ll do my best,” Jaskier replied, patting Geralt on the shoulder.

Geralt listened as Jaskier rapped on the alderman’s door, and he spoke with him at length while Geralt stood stroking Roach’s neck and staring off into middle distance as though lost in thought. Jaskier described the fight in flowery terms, making an epic of something that had barely lasted five minutes. The alderman sounded suitably impressed, and accepted the sight of the troll’s ear if not the actual ear itself. There was a heavy clink of a bag of money being dropped into Jaskier’s hand, and Geralt sighed a little in relief.

“What am I supposed to do with the ear, Geralt?” Jaskier muttered after rejoining him beside Roach.

“Toss it in that rubbish pile over there.”

“How did you know there’s a rubbish pile over there?”

“My sense of smell is as good as it’s always been, Jaskier. Now, let’s find that inn.”

Jaskier once again did the negotiating for the room while Geralt hung back in the stable with Roach. He dismissed the stable boy and removed her saddle and bridle by feel. There was a curry brush in his pack and he brushed her down, glad that he didn’t need his sight to care for her. Jaskier returned for him eventually and they slung their packs over their shoulders.

“It’s quiet in the public room, so we should be able to get through without too many people noticing you’re holding onto me. Just stick close behind. We’re upstairs and to the left.”

The inn smelled of roast beef and bread, ale and unwashed bodies. It wasn’t the worst place they’d stayed in, and he could tell that just by the smell. He surreptitiously held on to Jaskier’s pack and kept his eyes straight ahead, hoping to avoid unnecessary attention.

“Oi, Witcher! We don’t serve your kind here. Out with ye.”

Geralt froze and he could feel Jaskier stop abruptly ahead of him. All the voices in the room fell silent.

“I already paid you for the room, good sir,” Jaskier replied, and Geralt could hear a surprising layer of steel in his voice. “And this Witcher just rescued your entire community from that murderous troll that’s been plaguing you for three months, so I believe he’s owed a place to rest his head tonight.”

There was silence for a long moment, and Geralt cast his eyes down in the direction of Jaskier’s shoulder.

“I suppose that’s alright, then,” said the innkeep begrudgingly. “Lost me wife’s brother to that troll a month back.”

“My condolences,” Jaskier said, and his voice barely softened. “I’ll be back down in a bit for our dinner.”

“What’s wrong with ‘im? Don’t your Witcher talk?”

“Only when he needs to. All other times, he has me.”

With that, Jaskier stepped forward again and Geralt followed him up the stairs. Once in their room with the door closed Geralt couldn’t stop his shoulders from slumping. He felt exhausted, more so than was usual after a brief fight.

“Here, stand still,” Jaskier said, taking his pack from him and starting to unbuckle his armor for him.

“I can deal with my own armor,” Geralt protested, trying to bat his hands away.

“I know you can. But you don’t have to.”

Geralt slowly lowered his hands and let Jaskier help. Piece by piece the leather was removed, and finally Geralt felt like he could breathe again. Cool air swirled over his body, chilling him through his sweaty shirt.

“I’m going to take this off,” Jaskier said, hushed, and pulled the wet shirt over his head. Geralt’s arms dropped down again like lead weights. “Lie down for a little while.”

Jaskier nudged him over to the bed, and Geralt felt out the shape and size of the mattress before collapsing onto it wearily. Jaskier pulled a woolen blanket up over his chest and Geralt closed his eyes. There was no difference in the blackness either way.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Which part?”

“What you said to the innkeep. The way you said it. You didn’t have to, I’m used to it.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” Jaskier replied. He touched Geralt’s hand for just a moment, and Geralt, startled, let him. His hand was warm, and his fingers curled around Geralt’s before pulling away.

Jaskier set about making a fire in the hearth, and then Geralt listened to him fuss with various things in their room, airing out Geralt’s armor and unpacking Geralt’s chest of medicinals and potions.

“Would you like something for your headache?”

“It will pass,” Geralt replied, not surprised that Jaskier knew his head hurt. Jaskier always seemed to know those things.

“Well, if it doesn’t, let me know. I’m going down to see about our supper. You rest for a while.”

Geralt nodded, pulling the blanket up a little higher. He listened to Jaskier leave, then tried to relax into a light meditation. Though his mind was exhausted he still couldn’t find peace, because every little sound had him opening his eyes. The utter darkness and the helplessness that accompanied it deeply unsettled him. If Geralt was able to feel fear, he supposed that now would be a good time to feel it.


	2. Chapter 2

***

When Jaskier returned later with their food, Geralt was sitting on the edge of the bed. He had wanted to find a clean shirt from his pack, but had no idea where the pack was. He’d stubbed his foot on a chair he hadn’t expected to be in his way, then tipped into the table next to it, nearly knocking his potions chest onto the floor. After that he decided it would be best to wait for Jaskier.

“I need a shirt,” he groused, and Jaskier snorted softly.

“‘Why, thank you, Jaskier, for providing dinner. I’m ever so grateful for your assistance,’” he said in a passable imitation of Geralt’s deep voice.

Geralt grunted. “Thank you.”

“Now don’t move, I’m setting the platter down on the bed for a moment.”

The mattress dipped and Geralt sat very still. The potions chest clinked gently as it was moved, then it sounded as though their dinner was being transferred to the table.

“Here,” Jaskier said, handing him a dry shirt. He waited for him to put it on, then touched Geralt’s elbow, guiding him to the chair.

The scent of stew made his stomach growl, but he couldn’t see where the bowl was. He felt around until he could run his fingers around the rim, and Jaskier put a wooden spoon in his hand. He felt like a child learning to feed itself, eating carefully so as not to spill everything. It was harder than he anticipated, but Jaskier didn’t say anything, just pressed a rag into his hand when some of the stew escaped.

When he was done Jaskier pointed out that there was a mug beside his left hand, and Geralt had never been happier to drink an ale than he was at that moment.

“We need to talk about this,” Jaskier said tentatively.

Geralt nodded. “We need Yennefer.”

Jaskier sucked in a breath through his teeth. “There are other mages, Geralt. We don’t even know where she is. We can find someone local maybe, and see if they can help.”

“I don’t trust mages.”

“But you trust Yennefer.”

“I trust that she won’t make things worse.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier said slowly. “You’re blind. How much worse could it get?”

“Thanks for your optimism.”

Jaskier sighed. “I’m just saying, how far would we have to travel to find her, when you can’t see? How badly do you want to risk being so vulnerable, knowing that you can’t protect yourself? And I can’t protect you. What if we come upon brigands? Or monsters?”

Geralt could hear the frustration and fear in his voice, but didn’t have any reassurances to give him. “I need Yennefer,” he stated again.

Jaskier smacked his hand lightly down on the table in a rare show of defiance. “Do you have any idea where she could be? Any idea at all? Because it’s not as though we can just wander the whole continent indefinitely until we find her. It could take months.”

“She’s not exactly inconspicuous. I doubt it would take that long, Jaskier.”

“How do you even know she would be willing to help you?” Jaskier asked coolly. “You didn’t part on good terms last time, if I recall.”

Geralt frowned and didn’t say anything for a while. They didn’t speak often about what had happened on the mountain, and they especially didn’t talk about Yennefer. Repairs had long since been made to his friendship with Jaskier, though the cracks still showed through. He’d not seen Yennefer since that day.

He finished his ale, listening to Jaskier fidgeting with the edge of the table, tapping his nails on it lightly. “I don’t believe she would hold that against me if I came to her for help. She’s volatile but not vindictive.”

Jaskier shoved himself away from the table. “Just don’t fall into bed with her this time, maybe.”

Geralt blinked, for all the good it did. “That’s none of your business.”

Jaskier took a deep breath, and Geralt felt him lean in slightly. “No, I’m just the one by your side right now, helping you when you’re helpless. But you’re right, after she cures you, you’re free to do whatever you want with her. It’s not my business.”

Geralt heard the door open and close, and the room was silent. Jaskier had never spoken to Geralt like that before. Not even after the mountain, when Geralt had found him again after weeks of searching. Jaskier had merely gone cold, and it had taken a long time for him to thaw. Geralt knew that Jaskier’s feelings ran deeper than he ever showed, that his poet’s heart felt too much rather than too little, and he’d regret for the rest of his life having damaged it.

He knew that just by invoking her name he’d unintentionally dragged up their demons.

Geralt wanted to move around the room, to find the window for some fresh air, maybe, but he knew exactly two places in the room with certainty. The bed and the table. He couldn’t stand the idea of being dependent on Jaskier for everything, so he stood up and stepped forward very slowly with his arms outstretched. He tripped a little on his own armor but found the wall, then moved along it away from the door. He found the fireplace by the heat of it, trailing his fingers along the smooth stone mantel.

From the fireplace he followed the wall all the way to the far one. The draft from the seam told him it was the outside wall, and he found the window easily from there. He struggled to open it and finally got it to move a few inches, enough to lean close to the glass and take some long, deep breaths.

Jaskier found him there a while later, still leaning against the frame. “Don’t worry, you’re not missing anything. It’s dark outside.”

“Hmm.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier said haltingly, joining him there. “I’m sorry for what I said. It was uncalled for. I’m just worried, and it all came out wrong.”

“It’s fine.” Geralt shrugged, feeling awkward and guilty.

“How are you feeling?”

Geralt could feel the warmth of Jaskier’s hand hovering over his forearm, probably a gesture meant to be sympathetic that he was afraid to go through with. “I don’t know where I am,” he said finally, unsure of how else to describe it.

“Oh, I didn’t think--I’m sorry, I should have described the room to you when we got here.”

“I found the fireplace and the window. Am I missing anything else?”

“Nothing exciting. There’s no bathtub, just a wash basin on a little table beside you.”

He took Geralt’s hand and guided him two steps over so that he could touch the cold basin and the wood table. Jaskier’s hand was warm, and his fingertips were callused from the lute. Geralt held on, feeling more at ease already.

“There’s the bed, which you already know.” He led him to it and they both sat down side by side. “How’s your headache?”

“Still here.”

“Do you want a pain remedy? I can get you one.”

“No, I don’t want anything that might dull my senses. I’ve got few enough of them as it is.”

He heard Jaskier’s smile in his words. “If you’re able to joke then there’s hope for us yet.”

“Hmm.”

“Here, let me try something,” Jaskier said hesitantly. “Lie down.”

Geralt pursed his lips and frowned, but he obeyed, though he wasn’t sure why. Jaskier shifted around to sit with his hip against Geralt’s.

“I’m going to touch your head, alright?”

He nodded jerkily, bracing himself.

Jaskier’s fingertips rested on his temples and circled gently, easing the pain out with tiny motions, and Geralt went limp. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched him tenderly when sex hadn’t been previously negotiated for. It had probably been Yennefer, but he tried not to think about that. Jaskier’s touch was soothing and his scent when he leaned over Geralt was familiar enough that he let out a sigh.

“Where did you learn how to do this?” he asked, hushed.

“My nanny, growing up. I used to be plagued with headaches in my youth. Not so much anymore, thankfully.”

Geralt felt Jaskier’s breath on his face, ale and fresh bread, not unpleasant. He wanted to tip his head back and feel it closer. He wanted to be able to look up and see Jaskier's blue eyes above him. 

“How about here?” Jaskier’s fingers moved to his forehead. Geralt nodded, and Jaskier smoothed across his brow, softly pushing the pain away. He slid his thumbs down to run gently beneath his eyes, along his cheeks, and Geralt felt the absurd urge to moan. His headache had eased considerably, but he didn’t want Jaskier to stop.

Too soon Jaskier sat up again, and his hands came naturally to rest for a moment on Geralt’s chest. Geralt stopped breathing, and then Jaskier’s hands disappeared. “Thank you,” Geralt said, and his voice sounded rusty to his own ears.

“You’re welcome.” It sounded like Jaskier was smiling.

“It’s better,” he said, though his words fell short of how he really felt, as usual.

“Good.” Jaskier stood up and immediately the air felt cooler beside him. “It feels odd, to see your golden eyes and know that they can’t see me. You look right through me.”

Geralt swallowed around a lump on his throat. “Would you like me to keep them closed?”

“Never.”

Geralt’s heart beat harder and he felt his headache returning.

Jaskier clapped his hands together softly. “Well. I’m going to take our dishes back to the kitchen. Do you want another ale?”

“No, I’m done.”

“I’d considered playing downstairs tonight. A little extra coin always helps, especially when...we don’t know when you will take another contract.”

“Feel free,” Geralt said, though a large part of him wanted Jaskier to stay.

“Alright. I’ll just be downstairs. I won’t play a full set, just enough to get the coins flowing.”

There was a nearly imperceptible twang as Jaskier slung his lute over his shoulder, then a clink of crockery as he gathered their dinner things.

“Try to relax,” Jaskier said reassuringly. “You’re safe here.”

Geralt wanted to bristle at the idea that he would need to feel safe anywhere, but the truth was that it did help to hear it. “I’ll be fine,” he said when it sounded like Jaskier was hovering at the door.

After the door had closed Geralt took off his boots. He thought about taking off his breeches so that he could sleep in his shirt and his smalls, as he usually did when they stayed at an inn, but he decided he’d feel more vulnerable that way. He wanted to be able to leap out of bed at a moment’s notice and be ready to defend himself.

He carefully made his way over to his armor, airing out near the fireplace, and found his favorite dagger. He took it back to bed with him and hid it under the mattress on his side of the bed, just in case. Feeling a little better, he lay back down and pulled up the blanket over himself.

Sounds from downstairs filtered up to him, the dull clack of wood against wood, the sound of tankards of ale being set down on the bar and tables. Laughter from patrons, a woman’s raised voice. Stomping of feet on worn floorboards. Then the soft sounds of a lute being strummed, and Jaskier’s melodic voice introducing himself by way of a carefree ballad.

Geralt lay there and listened, all his senses tuned in to Jaskier, so clear that it seemed he was still in the room. He found himself sinking into the rhythm of the songs, letting his mind relax and his muscles unclench. He began to drift toward sleep and gave himself permission to do so.

When Jaskier returned later it was on quiet feet. “It’s just me,” he murmured. 

“Hmm,” Geralt replied, turning his face to the pillow.

Jaskier set his lute down and then there were two thumps as his boots landed on the floor. He slipped under the blanket beside Geralt, warm and familiar. “Go to sleep,” he whispered, touching Geralt’s hand.

Geralt didn’t think about it, drowsy and relaxed, just turned his hand so that he could hold on, palm to palm. He felt Jaskier freeze, then curl his fingers around Geralt’s like it was something they’d done a hundred times, instead of never.

It seemed natural, so Geralt closed his useless eyes and drifted off to sleep, feeling safe.

***

When Geralt woke and opened his eyes he was alarmed and disoriented. He inhaled a swift breath and froze, his heart beating fast until he recalled what had happened with the cursed medallion. Once he was able to calm himself he tried to sense where he was, and could feel Jaskier all along his left side, a warm weight.

They were pressed together but not entangled, so Geralt was able to get up and sit on the side of the bed without waking Jaskier. He couldn’t see out the window to tell the time but it somehow felt like morning. At any rate, despite the fear upon waking up, Geralt felt like he’d been able to sleep better than he had in a long time.

He listened to Jaskier’s slow, even breaths behind him, a soothing and grounding sound. Geralt was self-aware enough to realize that his sturdy walls around all things Jaskier were starting to crack. If he wasn’t careful he’d end up in a situation he’d fought for years to avoid. He knew that Jaskier wouldn’t mind, and would probably be enthusiastic about it, but it would ruin the only friendship that Geralt had managed to maintain for this long in his life. In the wake of the mountain, it was too much to risk.

Add to that the fact that he was dependent on Jaskier, and the whole thing was just a bad idea. So he tried his best not to think about Jaskier sprawled out in the bed behind him, and was glad that he couldn’t see the picture that he made. Tried not to think about the soft line of his mouth, slack with sleep, the only time it wasn’t moving.

Nothing had changed, except that now Geralt was aware of Jaskier in ways he’d never had to accept before. The loss of his sight just meant that his other senses were full of him.

“Geralt,” Jaskier murmured. The sheets rustled as he sat up, and the mattress dipped as he leaned toward Geralt. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he replied, half-turning in his direction. “Just woke up. Tell me if it’s morning, I can’t tell.”

“Um, yeah, it’s early but the sun’s up.” Jaskier yawned and stretched, and Geralt tried not to find it endearing. “I’ll go down and get some breakfast in a minute, just let me wake up first.”

Geralt nodded, suddenly ravenous. “Alright.”

Over breakfast Jaskier broached the subject of tracking down Yennefer, and he sounded much more neutral than he had the night before when talking about her.

“I’ll make some inquiries here in town, see if anyone has heard of her. I think I heard someone last night mentioning a local mage, it might be worth it to talk to them. Not to ask them to cure you, not if you’re still against that,” he said placatingly, before Geralt could even object, “just to see if they know.”

“The thing about Yennefer,” Geralt mused as he stood and straightened his clothes, “is that she never seems to be very far away. Sooner or later we’ll come across her.”

“It’s not the ‘sooner’ that concerns me, it’s the ‘later.’”

“Don’t worry so much.” Truthfully, Geralt was plenty worried, but he didn’t see the point in giving in to it or letting on to Jaskier.

“You must have a great deal of faith in my abilities to protect you,” Jaskier said in a strange voice. “I might be able to hold my own in a tavern brawl, Geralt, but I don’t even have a knife of my own besides the one I use to slice fruit.”

“Roach will protect us. She’s reliable in a fight.”

Jaskier sighed.

***

The local mage turned out to be not a mage at all but an elven healer instead. Her name was Alteriel, and she had a dim view of Yennefer of Vengerberg, much like Jaskier did. She had a voice that sounded like bells on a faraway hill.

“I’ve met her, and I didn’t like her. Too haughty by half, too assured of her own skills.”

“Her skills are legendary,” Geralt said, then bit off anything else he might have said, wanting to defend her but seeking not to anger Alteriel.

“Well, that may be, but I never saw it. She came through here briefly on the way to somewhere else, set up shop for a week out of the inn, and stole all my regular customers. After she moved on the townsfolk expected I’d be able to give them magical sex potions and miracle youthening creams. I’m still trying to recover from that.”

Geralt found that he couldn’t read her mood nearly as well as he could Jaskier’s, because he couldn’t see her face. Jaskier’s voice, however, let on that he was quite taken with her.

“I assure you that if this were not a magical curse we seek to break, we would be more than happy to visit your lovely establishment over hers any day. Unfortunately, my dear, your great skills would be wasted here.”

“I do appreciate your flattery, Master Jaskier,” she replied softly. “I am not immune to it. If there is anything I can do while you’re here, I would love to ply my trade for you.”

Geralt rubbed his temples and sighed.

“Actually,” Jaskier said suddenly, “if you have any remedy for headaches that avoids a narcotic, I’d be happy to give you my coin for that. My friend suffers ever since his curse.”

“Indeed I do,” Alteriel said, and Geralt heard the swish of her skirts as she got up, then the clink of glass vials as she presumably searched for medicine. “This is an aetheroleum of mint and lavender that I regularly sell for headaches. It should help your witcher until his sight is restored.”

Jaskier thanked her profusely and parted with his coin, while Geralt wished that they would not speak of him as though he was not in the room. Still, it meant that he didn’t have to say much, which suited him fine.

However, he hadn’t yet received an answer to the question that brought them there, so he once again asked about Yennefer. All Alteriel knew was that she had moved on by the main road westward, a month since. It wasn’t much, but at least they had a place to start.

***

This time Geralt wasn’t as disoriented while riding behind Jaskier. He found that by relaxing he could keep his balance much more easily, swaying in rhythm with Roach’s gait. Jaskier was a solid anchor to hold onto, and he relished the feel of Jaskier’s hips in his hands much more than he should, more than was prudent. Jaskier, for his part, gave no reaction that Geralt could tell.

“We’ll have to camp tonight,” Jaskier said over his shoulder. “We’re too far away to make it there at a walk, and I still don’t think we should try anything faster than that.”

“We should get down for a while anyway, spare Roach the weight.”

They both dismounted and Geralt took the reins from Jaskier, who was surprised.

“How can you lead if you can’t see where you’re going?”

Geralt rubbed Roach’s nose. “She knows where she’s going.”

He kept a hand on her neck as they walked, enjoying the sleek warmth of her coat and the muscles that bunched there when she shook her head.

“What’s it like?” Jaskier asked, close to Geralt on his left side.

“Being blind?”

“Yeah. Just curious.”

“Don’t write a song about this,” Geralt warned.

Jaskier sounded hurt, and Geralt regretted what he said. “I would never. I’m only curious for myself, so that I can help you better.”

Geralt hummed. “It seems like it’s night, except the sun is warm on my face. Touch is more sensitive. I can hear everything much more clearly, like the tone of your voice when you speak. I don’t need to see you to understand you.”

“I didn’t realize I was such an enigma to be deciphered,” Jaskier said. Geralt was surprised at the seriousness of his voice.

“You aren’t, anymore. In the beginning I didn’t understand a thing you said or did.”

Jaskier snorted, sounding lighter when he said, “I always thought I was a pretty straightforward person. I say whatever is on my mind, nearly all the time.”

“Nearly?”

“There are some things I don’t share even with you, Geralt. A man does have a right to his secrets.”

“He does indeed,” Geralt agreed, wondering what Jaskier’s secrets could be.

They walked along in silence for a while, then Jaskier asked him to stop so he could unstrap his lute from the saddle.

“I just feel strange without something in my arms,” Jaskier explained. “Do you mind?”

“You never asked if I minded before.”

“I don’t want to overwhelm your senses now.”

Geralt shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

Jaskier tuned his lute for a while and Geralt heard each note like a tangible thing in his ears. He began with a soft ballad about a milkmaid and a summer’s day, and Geralt tried not to let it show on his face how much he actually enjoyed it. It was one of the things he guarded closely, tied to his feelings for Jaskier. A man had a right to his secrets, after all.

***

By the time they stopped for the night Geralt’s good humor had faded, leaving frustration and irritability in its place. Jaskier had to pick the ideal spot to make camp, Jaskier had to build a fire, Jaskier had to lay out their bedrolls and make supper. Hunting had never been Jaskier’s skill, so they settled for bread and cheese instead. Geralt didn’t mind the simple meal, but he was angry nevertheless because he couldn’t provide anything better.

He sat on a fallen log beside the fire and brooded. At least he could feed himself with his own hands, but it was little comfort. He couldn’t tell what time it was, but he could feel the air growing colder, the sun no longer warming his cheeks.

He felt utterly useless. He stretched his senses to listen for predators of the monstrous or human kind nearby, but didn’t detect anything. It wouldn’t have mattered much if he did hear any, because he wouldn’t be able to protect Jaskier if something did come upon them. Jaskier seemed tense as well, making little conversation.

Privately, Geralt began to wonder if what he was feeling was fear. He didn’t have much experience with it, so it felt odd and cumbersome in his chest, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of dread. Perhaps he should listen to Jaskier and just hire the first mage they came across to break the spell. It would be safer for Jaskier that way.

“Jaskier,” he said, breaking the silence. His voice sounded too loud so he tried to lower it. “In my pack, at the bottom of the main pouch. There’s a dagger in a sheath. Go get it.”

Jaskier didn’t say anything, but retrieved the dagger.

Geralt ran his fingers over the tooled leather sheath and the hilt with one small bright jewel set into it. He remembered the brilliant pale blue of it perfectly. “It’s for you,” he said simply, and handed it back to Jaskier.

“What?” Jaskier sounded shocked. “What do you mean?”

“Was I not clear enough?”

“No, I just. This is really beautiful, surely you don’t mean for me to have it.”

“Would you be more likely to accept it if it was ugly?”

“I--Geralt,” he tried again, “why?”

“Because you need to have some chance of protecting yourself. It’s a dangerous life you lead, and a lute is not a weapon. I was saving it for...I don’t know, a special occasion maybe, but then I realized that you should have it now. I was planning on teaching you how to use it...”

“But that will have to wait,” Jaskier finished for him. “I know the basics, at least. Pointy end, other guy.”

“Basically, yes.”

“Thank you. It’s wonderful.” Jaskier’s hand suddenly covered his own and gripped hard.

Geralt didn’t know what else to say, so he just sat there like a fool. An angry, frustrated, desperate fool.

“I’ll keep it with me at all times,” Jaskier said, releasing Geralt’s hand. It immediately felt cold.

“There’s a belt in my pack for you. Bring it here and slide the sheath on, and I’ll help you fit it.”

What had seemed like an innocent, helpful task turned into something dangerous, as Geralt realized that the only way to fit the belt properly was to touch Jaskier. He told himself that it was no different than holding on while they were riding, but the truth was that it felt much, much more intimate. He stood close enough to feel the warmth radiating off Jaskier’s body and smell the fading scent of his soap. He tested the fit against Jaskier’s hips, making sure that it wasn’t riding too low.

He felt like a thief, stealing pleasure from having his hands on Jaskier’s waist, his hips, his stomach. He could hear Jaskier’s quickened breaths and knew that if he just leaned in a bit, if he just slipped his hands further down, that Jaskier would be in his arms within a heartbeat.

So he stepped away.

“There,” he growled, and he sounded as angry as he felt. “That’s where it should rest.”

“Thank you. That feels right,” Jaskier said hoarsely. “Geralt--”

“I need to see to Roach,” he interrupted, unwilling to hear what Jaskier was about to say. He trailed his fingers along the fallen log for guidance and found Roach at the end of it where he’d tethered her. There wasn’t really anything left to do for her, so he just picked up her brush and went over her coat again. She seemed to appreciate it, and it gave him something to do other than fight not to touch Jaskier.

When it was time to sleep he had to be guided to his bedroll, which provoked his frustration even more. His head ached but he didn’t want to say anything about it. He didn’t think he could handle Jaskier’s hands on him.

As they were laying there in the dark not sleeping Jaskier murmured, “I’ll do my best to protect you.”

Something hot flared in Geralt’s chest. “Listen to me. If there’s trouble, do not worry about me. You run away. If you can’t run away, then fight with everything you’ve got. But don’t fight for me.”

Jaskier huffed a hollow laugh. “You say that as if it’s a choice I could make.”

“Jaskier,” he said helplessly, completely at a loss as to what to do with the emotion crowding out everything else in his chest. _Do not love me,_ he wanted to say. _Do not love me._

***


	3. Chapter 3

***

Yennefer was not in the next town, nor was any other mage, but the innkeeper where they stayed remembered her violet eyes and ‘bewitching bosom’ from when she came through a few weeks earlier. He recalled her saying she was heading west. That gave Geralt some hope, since west meant the coast, and there wasn’t much to the south so that probably meant she had gone north, and they could simply hug the coastline until they found her.

They took their supper in their room again, so as not to borrow trouble, but Jaskier came back with their food saying that someone had approached him at the bar with a job, possibly drowners in the area. He’d had to turn them down, obviously, citing an urgent mission that drove them onward. Geralt just gritted his teeth in frustration.

After supper Jaskier went down to play for the crowd, and Geralt listened to him. He had planned on meditating, but the sound of Jaskier’s voice had threaded its way into Geralt’s head and it called to him the way the sea called to sailors.

Jaskier sang a bawdy song to open, drew them in with a dramatic tale, then pulled them close for a ballad of heartbreak. He finished with a brighter song of adventure and bravery. The applause was enough to shake the walls of the inn, and Geralt felt like he’d been kicked in the chest. It was too much, this tangle of fear and love, and he was too raw inside, too wrong-footed to know which way the surface was to swim to it.

When Jaskier returned Geralt could smell the sweat that clung to his hair, the salty sweetness of it. He was sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands, not knowing what to do, unable to escape that scent.

“Are you alright, Geralt?” Jaskier asked, still slightly out of breath, setting his lute down.

“My head,” Geralt replied, which was not untrue, and was easier than saying _my heart_.

“Stay there,” Jaskier said, and Geralt could tell by the soft sounds of fabric brushing on itself that he was taking off his doublet. He came with the scent of lavender and mint on his fingers and his own sweat on his skin to stand before him, and Geralt was inhaling it in deep breaths before Jaskier even touched him. Gentle fingers on his temples and brow eased the pain in his head, leaving cooling trails as Jaskier slipped his fingers down to the tight hinge of his jaw.

A desperate noise made its way out of his throat when Jaskier ran his fingers through Geralt’s hair and cradled his skull. He tipped his head back into Jaskier’s hands, and if he had sight he would have seen Jaskier’s face, his eyes bright and wanting in the light from the beeswax candles that Geralt could smell nearby. He would have been able to see Jaskier’s mouth, open just enough to accommodate his quickened breaths. He would have seen the pulse jumping in Jaskier’s throat.

Instead Geralt had to imagine it, and he knew he was right when Jaskier said, “Geralt,” in an aching tone as he carded through his long hair and ran his thumb along the shell of one ear.

“No,” Geralt answered simply. He took Jaskier’s wrists in his hands and pulled them away from his face.

“Why,” Jaskier whispered, letting Geralt grip his wrists.

“Because I’ll ruin you.”

Jaskier pulled away, stepping back. “After everything, after the mountain, you think you could possibly ruin me more than that did?”

Geralt flinched but didn’t answer.

“And I get no say in the matter?”

“No.”

Jaskier didn’t protest again. Geralt lay down in the narrow bed in silence, turning to the wall. A long while later Jaskier joined him, and they did their best not to touch each other, though there was a heavy weight that hung between them in those scant inches, pulling them together.

***

Geralt wasn’t even surprised when they awakened entangled. Jaskier’s lean thigh lay over his and Jaskier’s arm was wrapped over his chest. Geralt’s arm cradled Jaskier’s head, and his face was buried in Jaskier’s soft hair, breathing in the warm sleep-scent of him.

It would have been so, so easy to pull Jaskier under him and kiss him until they both forgot every reason not to. Jaskier’s stiff posture and quick breaths told him that Jaskier was awake and thinking the same thing. Geralt was two heartbeats away from it when Jaskier suddenly rolled away and left the bed.

Geralt stared sightlessly up at the ceiling and took some meditative breaths, trying to get his body under control. He knew, abruptly and with horror, that they’d already crossed the line in the sand that marked what they could never go back to. Geralt was ruining him already.

Breakfast was brief and subdued, just bread and cheese and cold ham and hushed voices. Geralt wanted to reach out but knew he shouldn’t, that it would be taken wrong. When they left, Jaskier took Roach’s reins and led her from the stable before Geralt could, so he trailed a step behind with his hand on her flank.

“I feel as though I’ve wrecked things again,” Jaskier said a very long time later as they rode down the westward road. “First the medallion and now this.”

“You haven’t.”

“Tell me we’ll be able to go back to before last night. All I did was say your name, and it fell apart.”

Geralt couldn’t speak, but tightened his hands on Jaskier’s waist. He hadn’t known the extent of Jaskier’s feelings, and the enormity of the situation was still sinking in.

“After this is over, we’ll need some time apart. A long time.”

“No,” Geralt protested before he even knew he was going to say it.

Jaskier ignored him. “If you had just said, ‘no, Jaskier, I don’t want you,’ I could have lived with that. But ‘no, I’ll ruin you,’ means something completely different, Geralt.”

“I know,” he grated out.

“It means you want it too.”

“Yes.”

Jaskier pulled Roach to a halt and half-turned in the saddle. Geralt could feel Jaskier’s gaze on his face. “Can you please give me an answer using more than one syllable? I know you’re capable of it.”

“What do you want me to say?”

Jaskier was silent for a long time, then nudged Roach into motion again. “Nothing, I suppose. Or perhaps you’ve already said it.”

***

The next two nights they made camp, wanting to save coin. It also helped not to be in such close proximity as they would have been in an inn. Geralt could breathe without every breath bringing him the scent of Jaskier. Once they’d made camp they barely needed to touch at all, except when Geralt needed to be guided somewhere.

Jaskier didn’t chatter like he used to. Geralt was used to a constant commentary on the state of the world around them, tales of drama and heartbreak and hilarity from his days at Oxenfurt, snippets of songs half written played one note at a time on his lute while they walked. All that had stopped. He still played and sang beside the fire each night, and he probably would have sounded the same as usual to anyone who did not know him, but Geralt did. He could feel the difference in his bones.

Geralt’s other senses were finally beginning to compensate for his lack of sight, and he felt much steadier on his feet. He still felt as useless as a dull sword, but at least he wasn’t in danger of falling over at the slightest wrong step. His headaches continued without much relief except for the oil that Alteriel had sold them, though he applied it himself rather than ask Jaskier to do it.

On the morning after the second night, while Jaskier was making porridge over the fire, they encountered exactly what they had feared: monsters of the human kind.

Likely drawn by their campfire smoke, two men approached on horseback. Geralt’s senses told him as much without needing Jaskier to alert him. He stood up, cocking his head to listen more closely for any aggressive movement. They both dismounted and came closer on heavy feet.

“What have we here, Rike? Looks like a dandy and a...what do you think that one is?”

The other man made a curious noise. “Dunno. White hair, yellow eyes. Looks like a Witcher to me, but he don’t seem right. Does he look right to you?”

Geralt curled his lip and looked in their direction. “We aren’t sharing our breakfast today. Move along.”

“I don’t know,” the man called Rike continued, ignoring Geralt. “I think maybe he can’t see so well. He ain’t looking at us. The dandy, on the other hand, he looks _mean_.” They both laughed, and Geralt heard Jaskier shift on his feet.

“My friend told you to keep going,” Jaskier said, his tone lower than usual and with a thread of steel in it. Geralt realized he was imitating him, and doing a fair job of it too.

“Oooh, look at ‘im, Bear,” Rike said, “He’s got such a pretty dagger on his belt. I do believe he’s threatening us.”

“Just for the sake of argument,” Geralt growled, “what are you two hoping to get from us?”

“Eh, we thought we’d start with your horse and then take everything else you’ve got. We’re not choosy.” It sounded like Bear was grinning.

“I’d like to see you try to take our horse,” Jaskier said, and Geralt could tell he was grinning too, but he could still hear the steel there. “No really, by all means.”

The two men were silent for a moment, probably reassessing the situation.

“Let’s start with everything else, and worry about the horse last,” Rike said. “I never met a horse I couldn’t break.”

Roach snorted and stomped in place, and Geralt smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile.

“Come and take it then,” Jaskier said, and Geralt’s blood ran cold as he heard the soft slide of the dagger on the leather sheath as it was drawn. “Our porridge is getting cold.”

Bear laughed. “You take the blind one and I’ll take the dandy. He’s so pretty, I may _have_ the dandy too.”

“Have your fun,” Rike said neutrally, and Geralt heard his blade being drawn too. “Maybe I’ll watch.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt said under his breath, “Run.”

Then everything was motion and chaos. He heard Jaskier leap and then there was the sound of a scuffle. Jaskier grunted and Geralt’s stomach dropped, but then there was heavy breathing heading his way, and Geralt listened carefully for Rike to telegraph his movements. They were slow and deliberate, probably because he believed Geralt couldn’t defend himself.

Geralt moved so the fire was in between them and kicked hard. A shower of sparks and wood scattered, hissing, into the air and Rike roared.

“Godsdamnit,” he shouted, and he stayed away, letting Geralt know that at least some of the fire had connected with its target. “Bear, make short work of that one, this blind fuck still got some fight in him.”

Bear grunted in pain and the scuffle reached Geralt’s ears again.

“Jaskier,” Geralt called, and Jaskier said, “Still fighting, Geralt, can it wait?”

He sounded winded but not in too much pain, and more importantly he let Geralt know his exact position so that he could avoid him. Geralt made the sign of Aard and Rike went flying back. It sounded like he impacted something solid, maybe a tree, and then lay there silently.

“Rike!” Bear called out, then a blade slashed through the air and made contact with something soft. Geralt’s heart stopped and then Bear yelped and fell down, gritting out, “Mother fucker.”

“Have you had enough?” Jaskier asked, panting heavily, and Geralt had never been prouder or more relieved.

“Rike,” Bear gasped, and Geralt heard him shuffle over to his fallen comrade, who was slowly getting to his feet. “C’mon. It ain’t worth it.”

Jaskier stood his ground, and said with disgust, “Get the fuck out of here.”

They rode off quickly into the distance and neither Geralt nor Jaskier moved a muscle until they were well and truly gone. Then Jaskier took a very deep breath and turned to Geralt.

“Are you alright?” he asked, coming toward him, and Geralt’s hands were unsteady as he reached out, finding and gripping Jaskier’s arms.

“I’m fine,” he said, running his hands over Jaskier until he found sticky wetness on his left forearm. “How bad is it?”

“Hurts,” Jaskier replied, starting to shake. “I don’t think it’s too bad though. I’m afraid to look.”

Geralt said, “Fuck,” and hauled Jaskier into a tight embrace. Jaskier came willingly and buried his face in Geralt’s neck.

“I’m bleeding all over you,” Jaskier mumbled, and hiccuped a laugh.

“I don’t care,” Geralt said, pulling away so he could take Jaskier’s face in his hands, mapping it out with his thumbs at the corners of Jaskier’s lips, smearing sticky blood and kissing him hard enough to hurt.

Jaskier made a shocked sound and then grabbed Geralt by the shoulders and opened his mouth eagerly for Geralt to sweep his tongue through. The whole world shrank down to the slick texture of Jaskier’s mouth and the scent of his blood, the solid feel of his lean body pressed tightly to Geralt’s.

“What are you doing?” Jaskier mumbled against his mouth.

“I’m kissing you,” Geralt replied, running his hands down past Jaskier’s jaws to press his thumbs against the pulse in his throat.

Jaskier made a strangled sound and melted into Geralt’s arms, his whole body open wide for him to take. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop,” he murmured, licking into Geralt’s mouth.

But Geralt did stop, pulling back to say, “I told you to run.”

“Would _you_ have run?”

“I wouldn’t have needed to.”

“Well, neither did I,” Jaskier said defiantly, kissing him and then pushing him away. “What is happening here?”

Geralt took hold of his wrist and held him there. “I don’t know,” he confessed, licking the taste of Jaskier from his lips.

“Well, when you figure it out, you let me know.” Jaskier pulled Geralt over to the fallen log they’d been sitting on earlier and then left him there, marching off into the woods.

He wasn’t gone long, but in the meantime Geralt sat on the log with his hands braced on the rough bark, wanting so badly to continue what he had started, but also to embrace the self-loathing that he felt for thoughtlessly playing with Jaskier’s heart.

“I didn’t know,” Geralt said while Jaskier patched up his own arm.

“What,” Jaskier said, his voice clipped and low.

“How you felt. That you would want more than…”

Jaskier paused in his motions. “That I would want more than for you to tumble me on some random bed in an inn, then go back to normal afterwards?”

Geralt nodded, ashamed. “Do you?”

“Yes.”

He sounded so firm that Geralt couldn’t possibly doubt him. Geralt rubbed his fingers together nervously and they were tacky with Jaskier’s blood. “I didn’t want to lose you, after. Your friendship.”

“Well, you’re going to lose me, before. How is this better than the ruin you think I would suffer to be with you?”

“Jaskier,” he said, his throat closing up around his name.

“The fact that all you can say is my name speaks volumes to me, Geralt.” His voice was gentle now, not accusing. “But I know you, and I can’t claim to be surprised. I knew years ago that it would come to this.”

“I didn’t.”

“That’s because introspection is not one of your strong suits.” He sighed deeply and then took Geralt’s hand to have him hold the bandage still for tying a knot. “I should have stayed gone, after the mountain.”

It felt like a punch to Geralt’s stomach, hearing that. “Don’t say that.”

“It would have been kinder to both of us.”

Silence fell between them. Geralt took a deep breath, trying to ease the weight on his chest. He could smell the sea air on the eastward breeze, signalling that they were nearly at the coast. He should have felt relief, but he didn’t.

“Come here,” Jaskier said quietly, and Geralt’s steady heart skipped a beat, but Jaskier only wanted to wipe off the blood on his hands with a wet cloth. “Let’s get going. No sense in lingering here.”

***

The scent of salt on the cold breeze grew with every mile they traveled. The sound of sea birds calling was like music in Geralt’s ears, a piercing sound like tiny bells ringing.

“We’re here,” Jaskier said unnecessarily, and the salt wind took Geralt’s breath away when it hit him full in the face, unfettered by trees. “We finally made it to the coast together after all.”

He sounded so hollow, so much like he had on the mountain, that Geralt’s chest hurt. He knew there was no comfort that he could give, so he sought to distract.

“What does it look like?”

Jaskier was silent for a while, then took a deep breath. “It’s the most massive thing I’ve ever seen. It’s the whole world. It’s blue and gray and it goes on forever, the waves are relentless, and there are whitecaps forming on the edges as they roll. The sand looks like ripples of stone. There are piles of rocks eaten away by the water, and the waves swirl inside them as they wash in.”

Geralt breathed in the air and leaned his forehead against Jaskier’s temple. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

“I know,” Jaskier said, his reply so soft that the wind almost snatched it away.

***

They reached the first in a series of coastal villages by nightfall, and secured a place to sleep at the only inn the town had. The barkeep was brusque but forthcoming, and said that he’d seen Yennefer only a week before, and that she was heading for the town of High Rock just a half a day’s ride away, to set up a shop in that cliffside town since they had no mage there.

There were two beds in their room, which Geralt appreciated. Jaskier took him by the hand and showed him the whole room with the exception of Jaskier’s bed, so there was a void in Geralt’s understanding of the room. Certainly Jaskier had done it on purpose.

Jaskier took out his lute that night and played for the patrons while Geralt drank bitter ale in the room by himself. He listened to Jaskier ask the crowd’s permission to play something new and unfinished, and there was a general agreement.

“ _I’ll keep the king_ ,” he sang slowly, his voice seemingly carried on a current of salt and wind all the way to Geralt’s ears, “ _when you are gone away, into darkness and howling I’ll keep him from drowning, as our boat is untethered from the dock_.”

Geralt stood up and paced the room, bumping into the hulking shape of Jaskier’s bed and shoving it as though it had done him wrong.

“ _I’ll keep him safe from the dark things that wait, in that house at the top of the rock_.”

Geralt drained his tankard of ale and then threw it in the direction of the fireplace. The clay shattered and rained down on the floor, and Geralt felt no better.

Jaskier returned and picked up the shards of clay in silence, casting them into the fireplace when he was done. He carefully packed his lute away into its case, then let out a nearly imperceptible sigh.

“Go to sleep, Geralt,” he said softly, tiredly, and Geralt tried to obey.

***

Sometime in the night Geralt was awakened when the mattress dipped beside him. Jaskier’s scent filled the air and he reached out a hand, colliding with Jaskier’s naked thigh and his smallclothes.

“Since it’s over anyway,” Jaskier said, resting his hand on Geralt’s chest where it burned like the sun, “I’d like to have you for one night. It doesn’t make sense not to have that. I think I’m beyond ruin.”

Geralt reached up to find Jaskier’s neck and pull him down into a kiss that made his whole world tremble at its foundation. It was everything that he had wanted and feared. Jaskier gasped into his mouth and spread himself out like a banquet draped over Geralt’s body. Jaskier’s cock was a hard line against his thigh and Geralt rocked up into him gently, then did it again to hear the long, slow moan that slipped out of his throat.

He couldn’t stop kissing him, his lush mouth, so generous and open as he let him inside. Geralt rolled them so that Jaskier was underneath and he could run his hands down Jaskier’s ribs and stomach and cock, one rough sweep of his palm and gripping fingertips. Jaskier cried out and clutched at Geralt’s back, his blunt fingernails raking through Geralt’s shirt and leaving trails of fire in their wake. 

“Fuck,” Geralt said against Jaskier’s neck, so low it was barely a sound as he scraped his teeth over tender skin and Jaskier panted in quick gusts of air. He palmed Jaskier’s cock and flexed his fingers, and felt him throb through the thin layer of fabric.

“Get these off,” Jaskier begged, pulling at their clothes in desperation. Geralt tugged on Jaskier’s shirt until he could get it over his head, then he threw it across the room. Jaskier stripped off Geralt’s shirt so swiftly that Geralt was surprised it didn’t rip. Geralt got out of his own breeches and tugged off Jaskier’s smallclothes, then they were bare against each other, skin sliding roughly as they tangled with one another.

Jaskier spread his thighs and Geralt settled between them, grinding against his cock and biting at Jaskier’s lip when he cried out.

“Take me, take me,” Jaskier moaned, digging his fingers into the curve of Geralt ass. “You can pretend it’s just a dream, I don’t care, just take me, please.”

Geralt groaned and kissed him, hitching his thigh up higher and holding him there. “You’ll have to get the oil,” he murmured against his mouth.

“You’ll have to get off of me first,” he replied, and Geralt felt him smile.

Geralt rolled off and felt Jaskier leave the bed and rummage around in his pack. He came back and pressed the bottle into Geralt’s hand. Then he hesitated and didn’t let go. “Unless you’d rather I do it.”

“Together,” Geralt said, and Jaskier sucked in a breath.

He lay on his stomach with his hips tilted up and Geralt curved over him from behind. Together, finger by finger, they opened him up until he was a quivering, desperate mess. Geralt kept thrusting long after Jaskier was ready, just to feel the liquid slide of him around his fingers.

“Geralt,” Jaskier gasped, “don’t tease.”

So Geralt replaced his fingers with his slick cock, easing inside while Jaskier fluttered sweetly around him. He wished that he could see what Jaskier looked like in that moment, because Jaskier stopped breathing and arched his back, and Geralt had to imagine what expression was on his face. 

Without his sight the other pleasures were so intense that he wasn’t sure he could last. He could feel every single place their skin touched, could smell nothing but Jaskier’s arousal, could hear nothing but his uneven breaths and the one time he whispered, “Geralt,” so quietly that Geralt feared he wasn’t supposed to hear it.

Together they rocked like waves, at first so gently and then crashing on the rocks as Jaskier reached his peak and his hips stuttered out of their rhythm. Geralt gripped his thighs and held him tight, pinning Jaskier completely against him as he found his pleasure, gasping for air and yet desperate to drown in him.

When they came down they lay like the dead, limp against each other and dazed in the wake of what they had done. Geralt could feel every drop of sweat cooling on his body in the chill air, and inhaled the bitter earthy scent of Jaskier’s come and the faint sandalwood sweetness of his hair.

“Just a dream,” Jaskier murmured, reaching his hand back to touch Geralt’s thigh, leaving trails of warmth with his fingertips.

_I wanted to pretend it was real_ , he thought to himself, and closed his sightless eyes.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lyrics in this chapter were written by Madeleine Hyland and Joey Batey, from their song 'King.' All credit goes to them. If you haven't heard it, you must go listen. <3


	4. Chapter 4

***

The morning was a sober one, with little talking and barely any contact except what was necessary to guide Geralt where he needed to go. Jaskier seemed to prefer ignoring what had happened, or at least to let it lie between them like a chasm, unspoken of. Geralt couldn't say that he blamed him, or disagreed. 

The sea wind was cold on Geralt’s face as he hung on carefully to Jaskier’s waist and the road rose higher and higher up the coastal hills. Jaskier described it to him as they went, and Geralt could see it in his mind, the ocean’s heavy blow against the rocks far below them.

High Rock was a larger town than the one they had left behind, stretching inland upon the myriad hills around and overlooking the wild sea. The inn they stopped at was clean and well kept from the outside, according to Jaskier, and the stable smelled of fresh grain. 

Geralt left Roach there in the hands of a polite stable boy, confident that she would be cared for. He followed Jaskier into the inn and up to the bar to inquire about a room, and there was a surprising lack of off-putting smells usually found in a public house. It was warm there and Geralt heard the crackle of a fire echoing off the back of the hearth.

“Geralt,” whispered Jaskier. “This is the place.”

The scent of lilac and gooseberries caught his nose before he heard her voice, though it was not enough time to brace his heart for the impact.

“Geralt of Rivia,” Yennefer said slowly, drawing out his name. “And his charming bard. However did you find me?”

"Yennefer of Vengerberg," Jaskier replied stiffly. “How did you know we were looking for you?”

“I didn’t,” she said, coolly. “But I do now.”

“Yen,” Geralt said softly, and turned around to face her. He didn’t even try to look in her direction.

She inhaled a swift breath. “Well, if you were going to seek me out, especially after how we parted, this would be a good reason to do it.”

He sighed, his shoulders sagging as some of his tension drained away. He was suddenly exhausted, and between the stress of the last several days and their deeply fractured relationship, he didn’t know what to say. Jaskier stepped forward instead.

“Can you help? He’s been cursed.” His words were courteous but clipped.

“He’s definitely been cursed,” she replied, more gently than Geralt had expected. “Follow me to my room. We can discuss it there.”

She led them down the hall, and Geralt held lightly to Jaskier’s arm to be guided. Jaskier was very tense under his hand, though if it was from the complicated feelings between them or the presence of Yennefer, he could not guess.

Her room smelled both sweet and acrid, her perfume mixed with the smoky sharpness of various potions. She directed him to sit in a chair by the fire and knelt in front of him with her hands on his knees. It was strange to be so close to her, and he could not help but be aware of her body the way he was aware of Jaskier’s, intimately and inescapably. He could remember with all his senses what she had felt like in his arms, the shape of her mouth under his, the taste of her.

But he remembered it with nostalgia, as something that was past, something regretted but finished. A closed door.

Jaskier cleared his throat, and his voice was tight when he spoke. “We were examining a troll hoard when we came upon a cursed object.”

“Geralt, you know better than to touch such things,” Yennefer chided.

“He was only saving me from touching it. It should have been me. A blind bard would have been much more poetic, don’t you think?” Jaskier laughed but it sounded brittle.

Geralt frowned. “It was just an accident, nothing more.”

“Hmm,” Yennefer said. “Interesting.”

“Is it?”

She sounded vaguely amused. “Very, but not for the reasons you think.”

Jaskier made an irritated noise and walked away to the other side of the room.

“I’m going to touch your face, Geralt,” she said, and then her cool fingers were on his temples, soothing the ever-present headache. He felt a strange sensation of a thread being tugged through his mind from both sides. She moved her fingertips to his closed eyelids and pressed as lightly as a moth’s wing.

She removed her hands and he slumped in the chair. “You brought the object, I assume?”

Jaskier said, “Here,” and Geralt assumed he had handed the medallion to her.

She unwrapped it and took a deep breath. “This is old. Very old. Also rather gauche, definitely too gaudy for my taste.”

“That’s exactly what I thought,” Jaskier said in a rush, then cleared his throat as though surprised that he had spoken.

“This is arcane magic. The sun symbol, trading brightness for darkness,” Yennefer continued. “But I can unmake it. It will take some time.”

“Hours? Days?” Geralt asked, gripping the arms of the chair.

“By tomorrow morning, with luck.”

Geralt nodded. “We’ve traveled a long way. One more day won’t matter much. And Yen...thank you.”

Her cool hand covered his where it rested, and Geralt had the subtle urge to remove it.

“I’ll go see about getting some rooms for us,” Jaskier said quietly, and slipped out.

Yennefer stood up and walked away, and he felt suddenly alone in a room he had no knowledge of. He should have asked Jaskier to describe it to him.

“So,” Yennefer said with an unreadable voice. “You and he, after all this time.”

Geralt shifted uncomfortably. “There is nothing. Or it’s over, if it ever existed. I don’t know.”

“You are banal in your transparency, Geralt. I can practically smell it on you. I suspect if I were to lean in more closely I actually _would_ smell it on you.”

“Don’t be crass,” Geralt said warningly. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“And obfuscation doesn’t suit you.”

He huffed an irritated breath. “Would my answer affect whether or not you help me?”

“No,” she replied after a moment. Some glass bottles clinked together somewhere across the room. “I’m merely curious as to which of you is to blame for this obvious lover’s quarrel between you two.”

“Definitely me,” he said grudgingly.

“I’m shocked,” she said, but her sarcasm was lacking the expected bite.

“I’m excellent at driving people away, in case you’d forgotten.”

“I haven’t forgotten anything,” she replied softly.

Geralt turned his face to the fire, focusing on its warmth.

“How many days since the curse?”

“Seven.”

Yennefer made a surprised sound. “And there were no other mages to be found?”

“None that I trusted.”

They were both silent after that, and it was a heavy silence.

Jaskier returned quietly, just as he had left. He came to Geralt’s side and hovered there. “They only have one room left, I’m sorry.”

Geralt nodded. “It’s fine.”

He wasn’t sure it was fine at all, but there was no way that he would betray that to either Yennefer or Jaskier.

“I’ll take our things and get our room ready. It’s just next door. Would you like me to check on Roach?”

“Yes. Please.” Jaskier stepped away and Geralt reached out for his arm, his fingers closing on nothing. “Before you go. Could you show me this room?”

“Oh,” Jaskier said, startled. “Um, here.” He took Geralt’s hand and walked him along the walls, pointing out the bathtub, the bed, and the table that served as Yennefer’s desk. Jaskier helped him run his fingers lightly along the edges of glass bottles, their corks rough. He could sense Yennefer on the other side of the table, very still and breathing evenly.

“Thanks,” Geralt said awkwardly, and Jaskier left again without a word.

“You must have really done something terrible to burn all the joy out of him.”

“Drop it, Yen,” he growled, and carefully made his way back to the chair. She busied herself with objects at her work table, and Geralt listened to the rustle of parchment and the subtle sound of liquid being poured.

“If you’re tired,” she said a while later, “you can lie down here.”

Geralt was exhausted and his head hurt, but he declined.

“Well, I’m about to finish setting up this potion, then it has to rest for several hours before the next step. We could continue to sit in silence, or you could go talk to your lover. Or to me.”

Geralt rubbed his head.

“Or you could just have asked for a charm to cure your headache, honestly Geralt.” She marched over and pressed her two fingers to his forehead, and the pain was instantly gone.

“Thank you,” he said softly, and she huffed at him.

“So this medallion,” she said conversationally. “It doesn’t appear to be a curse that would work on just anyone. It specifically would affect someone who couldn’t see something obvious in his life. Take away his sight, and he learns to see.”

“Fuck,” Geralt said, and if he’d been holding something he would have thrown it.

“Although I’m wondering if you’ve learned your lesson yet.”

“I’m going to lie down,” Geralt said abruptly, and stood up. He made his way to the door and let himself out, then stepped back in and cleared his throat. “Could you show me to my room?”

***

He was nearly asleep when Jaskier returned, smelling of fresh grain. “She’s set up like a queen,” he assured Geralt. He came over to the side of the bed. “Would you like me to make myself scarce? I could stay with Roach, her place is almost as nice as ours.”

Geralt smiled a little. “No, you should stay.”

Jaskier touched his shoulder briefly. “Do you want to talk about it? We don’t have to. It can just stay there, behind us.”

“I think we’ve got too much behind us already.”

“I don’t think there’s much ahead,” Jaskier admitted, but he sat on the edge of the bed.

Geralt sat up with his back against the headboard. “Why did you do it?” he asked wearily.

Jaskier sighed. “Because I wanted to. And I know you did too. It didn’t seem that it would make anything worse, and I’d have something to remember besides our years together on the road. Did it? Make things worse?”

“Yennefer said I’d burned the joy out of you.”

“That woman,” Jaskier said under his breath. “I wouldn’t phrase it like that.”

“How would you phrase it?”

“I...I think I’m just tired, right now. You’ve given me the best years of my life. If you can’t give me more, that’s not your fault.”

Geralt tightened his fingers on the blanket under him so that he wouldn’t reach out to Jaskier. “Isn’t it better this way, a cleaner cut now instead of a ragged one where we both bleed out later?”

“I’m not convinced that it would end that way, and I don’t think there’s anything you could say to make me believe that.”

“Why not?”

Jaskier leaned closer. “Because I’m not Yennefer.”

Geralt flinched and turned his head away. Jaskier smoothed Geralt’s windblown hair back from his face with gentle fingers.

“I’m going to talk with Yennefer, then I’ll bring back some food. Would you like me to show you the room first?”

“If it’s much like Yen’s room then I’ll figure it out.”

“It is.” Jaskier opened the door and said, “I’ll be back later. Why don’t you get some rest. This is almost over.”

Geralt couldn’t imagine what Jaskier and Yen would have to talk about, and it was unsettling to imagine it. He could hear the low hum of their voices through their shared wall, but couldn’t discern any actual words. They talked for a long time.

When Jaskier came back with supper Geralt was still in the same place with his back to the wall, thinking.

***

After they ate Yennefer came to their room uninvited, and Geralt didn’t have the heart to toss her out, especially given all she was doing for him. Jaskier seemed surprisingly gracious, and she came in and sat in the chair by the fire.

“Would you play for us, Jaskier?” she asked, and Geralt could have swallowed his tongue he was so startled.

“Of course,” Jaskier said, and Geralt felt as though he didn’t know either of them at all.

Jaskier sat on the edge of the bed with his lute and played ‘ _The Winds of March_ ’ and ‘ _Rise My Love_ ,’ two of Geralt’s favorites, and he was relieved when Jaskier didn’t play the song about the king and the darkness.

“There’s one I’d like to hear, I think you know which one,” Yennefer said when he was done, her voice rich with humor.

Jaskier coughed. “Surely not.”

Geralt groaned. “Yen, behave.”

“I insist,” she said.

“Very well, but I do so only because I can never deny my audience a request,” Jaskier said reluctantly, then played ‘ _Her Sweet Kiss_.’

As always it was bittersweet for Geralt to hear, but Yennefer seemed to appreciate it.

“I’ve always loved that one,” she said, a little wistfully, “despite its origins.”

“You are now and have always been an inspiring character, Yennefer,” Jaskier replied, and set down his lute. “So what brought you to High Rock?”

“Oh, a new start, I suppose. I don’t know how long I’ll stay. I grew bored with royal courts and their empty finery. I thought I might try the salt of the earth for a while.”

“Having moved in both circles, I have to say that the salt of the earth can certainly be more entertaining. And rewarding. Definitely more genuine.” There was a smile in Jaskier’s voice that Geralt was glad to hear.

“And where will you go from here?” she asked, and it wasn’t clear to Geralt which of them she was talking to.

“I actually thought I might stay here a while,” Jaskier said, surprising Geralt. “I’ve always wanted to spend some time at the coast. This is what I always imagined when I dreamed about it.”

Geralt’s throat ached and he gripped his mug of ale, thinking of the mountain.

“I know just what you mean,” Yennefer said. “And I don’t believe they have a local bard here, so I imagine you could make a tidy sum in High Rock.”

“On that note,” Jaskier said pleasantly, “I made a deal with the innkeep to play for the patrons tonight in exchange for dinner, so off I go to honor my contract.”

Once Jaskier was gone Geralt scrubbed his face with his hands. “What am I doing?” he asked Yennefer, who snorted delicately.

“You’re fucking it up, my dear. You can’t see what’s right under your nose.”

“You think I should risk everything?”

“I think that’s what love is.”

“You and I never did that.”

“I know.”

Geralt turned his empty mug around and around in his hands. “Did he say something to you?”

“He said a great many things to me. I’ll not share them with you, because you should really hear it all from him.”

Geralt swung his legs over the edge of the bed and set his mug on the floor. He slowly made his way over to the wall and found the window. “What’s it like outside?”

“Dark,” she said, joining him there. “I suppose I could describe the wind to you, but I suspect you can hear that just fine. There’s nothing to see.”

Jaskier’s voice carried down the hall to them and Geralt leaned against the window frame. He and Yennefer stood in silence the whole time, and when Jaskier played the song about the king and the darkness she placed a gentle hand on his cheek. She leaned up and kissed him, her mouth dry and sweet, and then she left him.

***

Jaskier played for so long that Geralt began to wonder if he was stalling. He was already in bed by the time Jaskier returned, and had nearly drifted off to sleep listening to him play.

“The crowd was very generous tonight. I think I’m going to do well here, if I stay. Something about the wild ocean air makes people both melancholic and adventurous, which tends to go well for a bard.”

Geralt’s chest felt like it was being squeezed in a vice at the thought of leaving Jaskier in High Rock. At continuing on his path alone. He could see Jaskier in his mind, his hair windblown by the sea breeze, his cheeks ruddy with cold, his blue eyes sparkling at all the breathtaking glory of the sun on the vast water. Beautiful, too beautiful.

“This place suits you,” he said, and the words scraped out of his raw throat.

Geralt had no idea what Jaskier’s expression was, but his movements stilled for a moment. “Yes, I believe it does.”

Jaskier’s boots thumped on the floor as he took them off. “So, what have you missed seeing the most? What’s the first thing you want to look at once Yennefer has removed the curse?”

_You._ “Roach.”

Jaskier laughed briefly, and it was such a genuine sound that Geralt found himself smiling too.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to share this bed with you, now. I suppose I brought this upon myself,” Jaskier said, becoming hushed. Geralt heard him taking off layers of clothing and felt his cock stir in response. He twitched the blanket in such a way as might disguise it.

“We’ve shared a bed as friends for years, Jaskier. We can do it again,” he said gently.

Jaskier hummed. “True, but now I know what you taste like,” he replied, sliding under the blanket beside him. His voice had dropped to a lower register than usual.

Geralt groaned. “You can’t possibly know what you’re doing to me.”

Jaskier didn’t say anything, but touched Geralt’s lower lip gently with one finger. Geralt slowly drew the tip of it into his mouth and Jaskier let out a shaky sigh.

“I really thought I was stronger than this,” he whispered while Geralt sucked. “I don’t know if I’m being crueler to you or to me.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Geralt said, releasing his finger. “Don’t care.”

“One more dream?”

Without giving it another moment’s thought Geralt pushed him down and kissed him, cradling his head and pulling him up into the kiss. Jaskier shoved the blanket out of the way and aligned their hips, and they were both hard against each other and already desperate.

“I want you to ride me,” Geralt said against his cheek, and Jaskier moaned low in his throat.

“I can do that,” he replied, and tugged at Geralt’s smalls. “I can absolutely do that.”

Jaskier opened himself up while Geralt slowly pumped his cock, listening to Jaskier’s heaving breaths as he rocked between Geralt’s hand and his own. “Stop that, forget about me,” Jaskier groaned, “I want to see you work yourself. I want to see what’s going inside me.”

Geralt took himself in his oil-slippery fist and stroked just fast enough to keep himself on the edge. Jaskier was a heavy, welcome weight straddling his thighs, and Geralt could smell his arousal in the air.

“Gods, what you look like right now,” Jaskier gasped, bracing his hand on Geralt’s chest and leaning over him while he worked himself open.

Geralt huffed at him, thinking there must be much more compelling sights to be seen. He would have given anything to see Jaskier when he shuffled forward and sank down on Geralt’s cock. They both had to stop and breathe when Geralt was as deep as he could go, and then Jaskier was moving, little flicks of his hips that stuttered every so often.

“I want to see you,” he whispered to Jaskier, who shuddered and moaned. Geralt persisted. “Let me see you.”

“How?” he asked, his breath hitching.

Geralt ran his hands up Jaskier’s strong thighs, then up his torso. He thumbed Jaskier’s pebbled nipples then skimmed over the soft hair on his chest, the cords of his neck as he swallowed, his stubbled jaw and smooth cheekbones. He ran his fingertips carefully over Jaskier’s eyelids, his forehead, down his nose to his full mouth, which was open on a soundless moan.

“There you are,” Geralt murmured, and Jaskier lost his rhythm, his thighs and hands shaking. Geralt gripped his hips and showed him a different rhythm, one that made Jaskier cry out too loudly. Worried that he’d wake the whole inn, Geralt spared one hand to cover his mouth. “I only want you to sing for me,” he said, and Jaskier slammed himself down as far as he could go and came in hot stripes over Geralt’s stomach. He muffled a groan against Geralt’s palm, trembling like he might come apart.

Geralt hissed and arched upwards, driving into Jaskier’s body again and again while he came in surging waves, holding Jaskier there with a tight grip on his thigh. When they were both quivering in the aftermath Jaskier fell forward and Geralt slipped out, much sooner than he would have liked, but then Jaskier was kissing him like he was the whole world, and it was all worth it, just for that kiss alone.

It wasn’t until they were drifting off to sleep that Geralt remembered that it was just a waking dream, not meant to be true, and that he was the one who had wanted it that way.

***


	5. Chapter 5

***

“Jaskier?”

“By the window,” Jaskier replied softly, and Geralt followed his voice.

“Aren’t you freezing?” Geralt slid his hands around Jaskier’s naked torso, feeling the chill air from the drafty window.

“Not anymore,” he replied, leaning back against Geralt’s chest.

“What time is it?”

“Just before dawn.”

“What does it look like?”

Jaskier sighed softly. “It’s that particular shade of blue that only happens early before the sun rises. Hazy, low light. The waves are steel gray and the sand looks like a pearl.”

“Beautiful.”

“You’ll see it tomorrow.” It sounded like he was smiling, but his voice was a little sad.

“Maybe.”

“You will. Yennefer will fix it.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier made a sound like he meant to speak but bit it back, then tried again. “How did you picture our friendship ending? Or did you picture an end at all?”

“What are you talking about?”

Jaskier leaned his head against Geralt’s. “Did you expect that I’d just walk your path until the end of my life, or the end of yours? Did you think that one day I’d find someone and settle down, leaving you? Or that you would?”

Geralt frowned and wrapped his arms tighter around him. “I never wanted it to end. If you...loved me, it would end someday. As my friend you could walk beside me and never need to go.”

“But I want more than that in my life, did you ever think of that? That walking beside you wouldn’t be enough someday? I want to walk _with_ you, Geralt. If I can’t have that, or at least the hope of it, I’d rather have nothing. Doing things halfway has never suited me.”

“That’s true enough,” Geralt agreed, pressing his mouth to Jaskier’s temple.

“Now tell me why you think that you’d ruin me. I still don’t understand that.”

Geralt stared sightlessly out the window, imagining the whitecaps foaming on the waves. “I’m not good at this. I drive people away, even people I care about. You know that better than most. I don’t know how to make people stay.”

Jaskier turned around, taking Geralt’s face in his warm hands. “It’s not up to you to _make_ me stay. It’s up to me to try, every day, knowing who you are. And I do know you, Geralt. It’s why I came back to you in the first place, after the mountain. Because I know you, and I want to be with you. I _want to be here._ But not if you’re not willing to try too.”

Geralt rested his forehead against Jaskier’s and ran his fingers over his hair, smooth as raw silk. He needed some time to think, and to talk to the keeper of all his secrets, but he couldn’t get the words out. All he could say was, “Can you take me to the stable?”

Jaskier just gripped his hand and nodded.

***

Jaskier led him to the stable, which was cool inside but the walls blocked the chilly wind. Geralt warmed his hands on Roach’s neck, running his fingers over her smooth coat. She snorted softly and bumped him with her head.

Jaskier drew Geralt’s attention back to him with a touch. “When you want to come back the stable boy can show you the way. I’ll be with Yennefer.”

“That’s a phrase I never thought I’d hear from you.”

“Believe me, the irony is not lost on me.” The sound of his footsteps receding echoed in Geralt’s head long after they’d faded.

Geralt leaned against the wall of Roach’s stall, listening to the sounds of the horses crunching their grain. He tried to think, tried to let his mind find peace and answers. All he kept thinking of was Jaskier’s face, the first thing he wanted to see. What was that if not love?

“Have I lost my mind?” he asked Roach. “I want to give him his dream, and dream it with him. Where’s the sense in that?”

Roach ate her grain placidly and didn’t answer.

“He deserves happiness. I just don’t believe he’ll find it with me. Or be able to keep it.”

Roach stamped one hoof.

“I’m a monster, created to hunt monsters. I wasn’t made for this kind of companionship. You should be all I need in my life.”

Roach snorted.

Geralt sighed. “Very helpful, thank you.”

He found a curry brush on a ledge in the stall and went to work on her coat, letting the familiar motion lull him into a kind of meditation. Roach might not have the answers for him, but she was as always a good listener.

Geralt had spent so much time traveling alone with only Roach for company, and he’d thought it a good life, as much as a Witcher could have a good life while killing monsters and being ostracized. But then Jaskier came along and redefined what his life was and could be. He’d sacrificed so much to be at Geralt’s side, for no other reason than that he wanted to be there, despite how much Geralt tried to drive him away.

He owed it to Jaskier to try.

It was a step beyond where he’d gone with Yen; they had carefully toed that line but never stepped over it. Even with the magical link between them they’d never tried hard enough with each other, and Geralt now had something to compare it to. He’d crossed over that line with Jaskier already, he just hadn’t let himself realize it. He didn’t want to imagine a life without him.

There was no magic to it, no obsession, no destiny. There was only the desire to hear him laugh and sing, to let his senses be full of him, to keep him safe. A desire to be the reason Jaskier smiled.

“You there,” he called, knowing there would be a stable boy somewhere nearby. A moment later one appeared at the door to Roach’s stall.

“Yes, sir?”

Geralt swallowed his pride. “I need assistance back to the inn. Could you lead me there?”

The boy didn’t miss a beat, just said, “Of course, sir. Just come this way.”

Geralt took the boy’s skinny arm and was led back to the inn and to Yen’s room, where a sharp, heavy fragrance filled the air even before Jaskier opened the door for him. It reminded him of burnt sugar, a dark scent.

“Geralt,” he heard Yen call. “Your timing is perfect. It’s almost ready.”

Jaskier led him inside and at Yen’s direction showed him to the chair by the fire. “Did Roach provide you with any answers?”

“She’s a horse, Jaskier,” he said dryly. “She was very tolerant of my ramblings.”

“I’d quite like to hear your ramblings someday,” Jaskier replied. “Considering how taciturn you are.”

“Hmm.”

“If you’re quite finished,” Yen interrupted, “I have something for you to drink, Geralt. It should restore your sight. I say should, because I’ve rarely encountered a curse so tangled. I’ll have to neutralize the medallion at the same time as the potion neutralizes you.”

Jaskier slipped his hand into Geralt’s and squeezed reassuringly, and Geralt held onto him. Yen handed Geralt a small glass vial and went back to her work table.

“When I say drink, drink immediately,” she said, and he could hear the tension in her voice. “Drink.”

Geralt lifted the vial to his lips and tossed it back. It was thick as syrup and twice as sweet, a flavor as black as the inside of his eyelids. He choked but swallowed it down, squeezing his eyes shut when for a moment his head seemed to burn with an unnatural fire. He grunted and clenched his fists, and Jaskier didn’t make a sound although it must have been hurting him.

Yennefer let out a long, heavy breath. “There. It’s done. All that’s left is for you to open your eyes, and we’ll see how lucky we are.”

Geralt felt a cold wave rush over him. He recognized the feeling as the same one he’d felt when Jaskier was fighting the brigand in the forest. He didn’t want to open his eyes.

“Geralt,” Jaskier said softly, kneeling down in front of him. “Look at me.”

After a moment Geralt took a deep breath and opened his eyes, and Jaskier’s face was glowing with the morning light, his blue eyes bright and filled with tears, his grin huge as Geralt focused on him for the first time. Geralt touched Jaskier’s cheek, then kissed him quickly. Jaskier made a soft sound and kissed him back, sliding his fingers into Geralt’s hair.

Yennefer cleared her throat delicately and Geralt pulled away. She came around her work table and approached him. She was wearing a simple black dress and her hair was braided and caught up with a hairpin in a style he’d never seen her wear. She looked different from the way he remembered, the last time he’d seen her on the mountain. She looked relieved and tired.

“Any problems with your vision? Ripples, darkness, haziness?” She passed her fingers over his forehead, and it tingled.

“Just the same as before.”

“Good.”

“Thank you,” he said, and she just nodded, stepping away. As she turned she touched Jaskier’s shoulder briefly, a comforting gesture, surprising Geralt.

Jaskier dropped his forehead to Geralt’s knee and his shoulders trembled. Geralt smoothed back his hair and marveled at the simple pleasure of looking at him. He was wearing his sky blue doublet, Geralt’s favorite, the one that brought out the blue of his eyes. His hand was still gripping Geralt’s.

“This is just a pretty bauble now,” Yennefer said, showing him the medallion that had caused all the trouble. “Would you like to keep it as a souvenir?”

“Melt it down for scrap,” Jaskier said, his voice hard as he lifted his head. “Or throw it into the sea.”

“I’ll do it myself,” Geralt said, and Yennefer came back over to hand it to him. “Are you sure it’s safe?”

She nodded. “It’s neutralized, don’t worry.”

He took it from her and examined it by the light from the window. It was such an innocuous, shiny little thing, seemingly incapable of causing such chaos. “Jaskier, we’re going to the cliff.”

“Alright.” He smiled a little, catching Geralt’s eye and holding his gaze.

“Wait,” Geralt said to Jaskier. “Let me talk to Yennefer for a moment.”

Jaskier nodded and bit his lip, then left the room.

“I just wanted to say...thank you. And I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Her gaze was steady, as though she already knew but wanted him to say it.

“For everything. All of it. You deserve to be happy, and you were never going to be happy with me.”

Yennefer looked as much at peace as he had ever seen her. “You deserve to be happy too. And I think he makes you happy. I hope you see that now.”

“Was the medallion supposed to show me that?” He couldn’t keep the sarcasm from his voice.

“No,” she scoffed. “That’s magic, Geralt. Magic isn’t real. _You’re_ real.”

He stared at her and she smiled at him, her violet eyes sparkling.

***

The wind was cold, the morning sun was dazzling, and the sea was breathtaking in its enormity. Geralt soaked everything in like it was the first time he’d ever seen the world. Jaskier held his hand and he let himself be led, content to follow just as he had since the moment he’d been cursed. They found a flat stretch of cliff that overlooked the water below, swirling along the base of the cliff, shaping the jagged black rocks there.

“Perfect,” Geralt said, and threw the medallion as hard as he could. It was such a small thing that he only saw one golden wink of it as it spun through the air, then it was lost from sight. 

Jaskier let out a long sigh and looked at Geralt, who looked back. His eyes were so much more beautiful than Geralt remembered, the same blue as the world in between the night and the dawn, soft and glowing.

“It’s done,” Jaskier said, squaring his shoulders as though bracing for an impact.

“It’s just starting,” Geralt said and pressed his mouth to Jaskier’s, not a kiss of passion but of promise. Jaskier froze for a moment, then pulled back.

“Oh,” he said, a sound of sudden understanding, a sound of wonder. “Oh.”

“Are you speechless?” Geralt asked, watching Jaskier’s eyes fill with tears. “Finally, after all this time?”

“I don’t think there’s anything I could say right now that would be good enough.” He blinked his tears away and slid one hand around Geralt’s neck, grinning as brightly as the sun. “But give me a few minutes and I’ll compose you a sonnet.”

Geralt closed his eyes and kissed him, and he knew that when he opened his eyes again he’d still see Jaskier’s shining face.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! Kudos and comments will light up my day, if you should choose to leave them. <3


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